“But Sokolli Pasha was well prepared for such an event. At once he sent a single messenger with the news in an encoded message from the camp at Szigeth. That man and another brought the word to Sofija within the week. I had been posted in Sofija, never out of sight of my horse, for months, and I did my best to carry the word as quickly yet as silently as possible here, to Constantinople, which, Allah willing, I have accomplished. Another single man met me at the gate and took it on to Kutahiya. This ring I have of your lord allowed me to stay here, enjoying your hospitality, in a place where I would not be dogged constantly for news of the front, news which, if I was tempted to tell it, could be very dangerous indeed.
“Now, as to how Sokolli Pasha managed the plot there on the front, I will tell you what I know. He and the two physicians in attendance were the only souls who witnessed the death. I have been told the Grand Vizier himself strangled the physicians, but I personally do not think that possible. It is hard enough to keep one dead body a secret, but three?
“I think he simply refused to allow the doctors to leave the tent. He slept, guarding them, on the floor beside the dead Sultan’s bed. The physicians applied embalming salts, I believe, and the cold of approaching winter in the mountains was with Sokolli Pasha to slow the rotting of his master’s flesh. But for living flesh willingly to join in that chill is discipline indeed.
“To the men outside, the Grand Vizier announced, ‘Our master is ill. He is resting.’ When food was brought for the lord, Sokolli Pasha and the physicians partook of the small portions of a sick man so even the cooks would not suspect.
“And though all the army had to be kept at a distance for the ruse to work, Sokolli Pasha went out almost hourly with messages for the troops. These were messages he himself had penned, but which read like the words of the Sultan. They spoke encouragement and fire for the Faith. They contained orders for forays and astute maneuvers to weaken the enemy.
“Sometimes the dead body of the Sultan was painted with cinnabar to give it more life. It was propped up stiffly and, through a gauze curtain, seen by those outside to be watching the progress of the siege with interest and eternal determination.
“Well, I have since learned that within two days of the death, the fortress was taken and victory won. The dead Suleiman, through Sokolli Pasha, praised and thanked his men and handed out gifts to those who had been particularly valiant, as had always been his generous wont in life. Then the order was given that, to avoid the dangerous snows, retreat would be made from Europe until another year. Slowly, and with as much order and discipline as when they had set out with their Sultan alive, the army began following his carriage home, that carriage which, still unknown to them, had become his hearse. Every night, the Sultan’s tent was pitched and the physicians carried him into it on a stretcher to rest, and back to the carriage come daylight.
“Allah willing that all continues thus smoothly, Selim should meet the army in Belgrade. Only then will rumors be allowed to leak out and proofs given. Only then, when a new Sultan is there to take over command from the corpse of his father, and receive the oaths of loyalty from his men.”
“Allah willing, it will all come about as you say,” I amen-ed the remarkable young spahi before me.
“Amen indeed,” he said, breathing a sigh, “though it grieves me that I shall have to take leave of this lovely home tomorrow morning to ride north with further intelligence.”
“It is indeed a pity,” I said, able to speak now for myself as well as my mistress.
When I returned to her, “He reminds me so much of you,” Esmikhan confessed, trying to laugh at her tears.
“My lady is too kind,” I protested, for I had just been thinking that there were probably no two men more unalike than Ferhad, the spahi, and myself.
But the spahi’s recital had filled me with wonder for another man, and that was my master. I had thought many negative things about the constraints duty put on him during the past years because of what it was doing to my mistress. But now I knew that, though duty may indeed never get a son, it could save a nation. I had seen it happen: Sokolli Pasha had single-handedly carried the entire Islamic nation over the terrible morass of potential civil war and chaos for more than a fortnight. This he had done with no hope of praise or gain for himself; he would still be no more than Grand Vizier, the Sultan’s slave, when Selim got to Belgrade. No, he had done it armed with nothing but his duty. And it is one thing to be dutiful to one of the greatest, most powerful monarchs in the world; quite another when that man, like any other man, loses all force to the hands of Allah, and begins to stink.
As I sat there with my lady—she trying not
